Like a pig

After a couple of months of me zigging when Bill was zagging, we're back in the garden together. Sweet.

Pop Quiz: How do you know your rosemary is out of control?
Answer: When you need a chainsaw to prune it.

We slaved like - well, slaves - this morning, freeing the granite from the rosemary's clutches, weeding, mulching and reducing the sumac thicket to what we laughingly consider a manageable size.

But here's the best part - we had a nice big pile from clearing the orchard and today was a burning day. By the time we were tuckered out from gardening, there was a bed of coals - I kid you not - six feet long and three feet high. We cut filbert suckers for skewers and sipped a cold beer while our sausages sizzled. A great horned owl lit on the top of the little fir tree, silhouetted against the western sky. It looked like a really big black cat (except for the flying part).

We went back long after dark and sat watching the sky and the glow of the coals. Even with fire-glazed eyes we saw the Milky Way clear across the sky. It was a nice respite from the thundering feline horde in the house, but we couldn't stay out too late. We think they've figured out how to use the internet and I caught Bungee with my credit card yesterday . . .